After the End
by EstelRaca
Summary: It's always hard going back to normal life after fighting a war. Usually that's because the war was the worst thing imaginable, and though that's certainly true with the Grongi... it's also not. A series of three one-shots, looking at life after Kuuga.
1. Sakurai

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Kamen Rider Kuuga. I just adore it. Seriously, one of the best super hero shows from anywhere at any time.

**Author's Note:** This is going to be a series of three one-shots that are loosely tied together, set after the series. The second two are with my beta, but given the scarcity of free time I have I figured I'd get this one up and then throw the other two up when I get them back. Fair warning: the first two focus on rather tertiary characters; the third will be a main character piece. Hope someone enjoys!

_Sakurai_

He's the first one to go through it.

That stings, sometimes, though the shame lessens as time goes on and most of the others go through something similar. After all, it's not like he actually _broke_. Not like he did anything wrong, or even failed to do something right. It just… hurt.

Hurt more than it should, more than he remembers it hurting, seeing the body. A twenty-one-year old male, average height, average weight, killed in what someone at least wanted to look like a botched robbery attempt. He's seen worse injuries, worse deaths before. The victim was only stabbed three or four times, and his blood is polite enough to stay mostly in a pool on the floor. No garish decorations on the walls and ceiling, like stabbing victims often leave.

He's seen _so_ much worse, before. That's what detectives _do_, after all. They respond to the most terrible parts of someone else's life. After all the things the Grongi did, all the things he's seen in the year-plus he's worked on the Unidentified Lifeforms Task Force... for heaven's sake, he watched a fellow officer die not a hundred yards in front of him, heard him screaming and watched the beautiful, awful arc of aortic blood as the Grongi slaughtered him.

And yet this man, this man that everyone else is walking around nonchalantly, as standard a murder case as Japan can get, this man's death is more _wrong_, is more incomprehensible—

He stops thinking after that. Or, more aptly, stops feeling. It's something he did during his first four responses to the Unknown Lifeforms, and even though he hasn't done it in a year, falling back into the old pattern is easy.

Just take things second by second, step by step. Determine what needs to be done _right now_ and then do it, and don't think about any other task until it's done. Fire at the enemy. Evade the enemy's attacks. Put tourniquets on the injured. Report what occurred.

Huddle in a corner later, when no one else can see, and scream silently about everything that's happened, because the world isn't making any sense anymore.

It's Sugita who finds him, long before he has to figure out whether he's going to cry or scream or not about a case that shouldn't be bothering him as much as it is. He should have noticed the other detective enter the room. He should have been able to look up and smile and nod, maybe give one of Godai's strange little thumbs-up, but he's still running on autopilot. Still processing what's right in front of him, putting far more effort and energy into the paperwork than it probably warrants because that is the task to be done _now_, so he's not really surprised that he didn't notice anything else.

He certainly manages to surprise Sugita, though. Diving to the side and going for his gun is a somewhat drastic reaction to a soft tap on the shoulder.

"Sakurai-san?" Sugita's own hand falls from his gun slowly, his suit jacket sliding forward again to hide the weapon.

"Ah." Standing with as much dignity as he can muster, he straightens his own suit out. "Sorry. And good afternoon."

"Good afternoon." Sugita takes the cues to pretend the strange little episode didn't happen in stride, settling down on the table next to the paperwork and glancing over it. "Just thought I'd say hi, give you a break from paperwork for a few minutes, see if you needed anything. Murder case already, huh?"

"Yeah." Settling back into his seat, he avoids looking at the older man's eyes.

"Bad one?" The sympathy in Sugita's voice isn't feigned, he knows that, but it still makes his cheeks burn.

"Not particularly." Which means he shouldn't be reacting like this. It shouldn't _hurt_ like this, any time he actually stops acting and just starts processing what he's doing. "From the looks of it, a drug deal gone bad. We're just waiting for our lead suspect to come home so we can pick him up. Give forensics a few days, and I think we'll have this wrapped up."

"So… everything's all right then?" It's a vague question, an open question, and an open invitation to talk if he wants to or needs to.

That's not what's done, though. That degree of weakness isn't allowed, even in front of other taskforce members, these people he knows better than anyone else in his life. Besides, he doesn't even know how to articulate what the problem is. Doesn't even really _know_ what the problem is, other than that everything about this case is wrong. "Everything's fi… it's fi…"

He needs to say it. Needs to believe it. There hasn't been a Grongi sighting in three and a half months. Everyone's back in their old divisions. Human life goes on, just like it always has, with people hurting each other for small, pointless reasons.

People killing each other for small, pointless reasons, and that's what's so wrong with this case. After everything that humanity has been through, all the people that were lost, all the people who were injured, all the people that had lives ruined, nothing's changed.

Humans perpetuate the same horrors on each other that the Grongi did.

"I think you need a drink." Sugita's hand on his shoulder is firm, an anchor to a reality that makes sense, where only monsters kill people and there are heroes surrounding him on every side. "I was already thinking of getting a group together tonight. Want to come?"

"Ah. Sure." His smile isn't entirely feigned. The thought of getting to spend time again with the people he practically lived with for over a year is enough to ease at least some of the tension in his gut. "I've got to work on this, but I should be free later."

"Great. See you at seven, then." The other man smiles, heading for the door. He pauses before opening it, though. "And Sakurai-san… it really is all right. Whatever's troubling you… just… we survived. Godai-san survived, even. And as long as we're alive, and we can smile… everything has to turn out all right."

The smile that had been growing fades. There are so many ways that isn't right. So many things that both of them have seen, so many people they've seen killed, so many people they've seen grieving that speak to being alive and smiling just not being enough to fix the world.

And yet… it saved the world. That simple, powerful ability, to smile and believe despite all the evidence, saved the world.

So he forces the smile back into place and holds out his hand in a gesture that no one on the Unidentified Lifeforms Task Force is ever going to forget. Sugita returns the smile and the thumbs-up before slipping out the door.

The case still hurts, hurts more than he remembers it hurting, but that's all right. It _should_ hurt. Someone dying senselessly, pointlessly, someone who still had a lifetime ahead of them… it should hurt like hell, even if it was their own bad choices that put them in that situation.

And it should hurt more that people can be just as monstrous and destructive to each other as the Grongi were to humans.

But it doesn't change anything. It doesn't mean that people are anything like the Grongi, not as a whole. It doesn't mean that the Woman with the Rose Tattoo was right about their kind. It doesn't cheapen what Godai did, what they all did. The fact that humanity's not perfect doesn't make its value less, or the blood price they paid for it far too high.

Nothing, nothing in this world or any other, can tarnish the courage and compassion and awesome strength he saw displayed too many times to count… saw displayed so often that he started to forget the horrors he originally signed up to fight.

He drinks to humanity that night, along with a dozen other members of the Unidentified Lifeforms Task Force, in what ends up being the first of many reunions at the bar. And somewhere between the alcohol and the memories and the simple camaraderie of being with people who've seen as much as he has, the sharp pain of disappointment and the feather-soft hope of what could be find a way to coexist.


	2. Sugita

**Disclaimer:** Kuuga isn't mine. I just love the characters, the ideals, and the general faith in humanity depicted in it.

**Author's Note:** There's some disturbing imagery and themes in here, including child abuse and murder, but nothing terribly graphic. The third and final part will be up next week (sorry for the delay—my beta just thinks my Ichijou needs more work, and I agree).

_Sugita_

He's one of the last ones to go through it.

Maybe because he's older. He already had years of bitter experience, had seen the dark depths of what people could do to each other, and come out the other side with a general faith in humanity still intact. After all, most crimes were crimes of desperation. Physical desperation, emotional desperation, _social_ desperation, even; a need to be accepted and respected by someone, even if it's only other yakuza members. People didn't hurt each other just for the sake of hurting each other. People didn't feed off each other's pain and fear and terror.

People _didn't_.

And that's what he forgot, watching Godai fight again and again and again, emerging bloody and broken and _smiling_ from so many battles. That's what he forgot, watching his comrades fall one after another for people they didn't know, with others always rising to take their place.

He saw so much of the light in humanity—so much of the hero, the martyr, the damned victorious _saint_—in Godai and Ichijou and everyone else that he managed to forget the dark even exists.

And now it's staring up at him out of two big brown eyes, lost and haunted.

"That's everything that happened, honey?" He keeps his voice gentle for her. Keeps the rage and the despair and the utter certainty that _this isn't right_ from showing in his tone or on his face, because she's already been through enough.

Thirteen and raped. Thirteen and beaten, her face and chest a mass of bruises. Thirteen and starved, her arms and legs far too thin for her too-small body.

Thirteen and broken, because the people abusing her were the people who were supposed to protect her.

"Please…" She bites at her bottom lip, eyes darting around his face, his chest, looking anywhere but in his eyes. An animal's reaction, hurt and trapped and submissive. "When can I go home? I don't want to get in any more trouble…"

"You're not going to get in any trouble. I swear." He touches her shoulder, careful not to grip too hard because of the bruises and because she looks so damn fragile. She still flinches away from him, hunkers down into herself, and he pulls back as though her arm were scalding hot. "The doctors are going to take good care of you. I need to go talk to your… to the others, but I'll be back in a little bit to make sure you're all right."

She barely nods, a jerky movement, and he knows she doesn't trust him. Knows she doesn't believe him, or even understand how to believe him. In her world, there haven't been any heroes, and he's not going to be able to change that for her overnight.

Maybe no one will ever be able to change that for her.

He doesn't take his gun with him when he interrogates her parents. He knows his own limits, knows the things that push him too hard, too far, too fast for reason to keep up with emotion. It's such a cliché, really, that crimes against kids bother him so much. A father who can't stand things happening to children, a parent who could happily pound in the skull of any person who touched a child with the intent to harm… it's the kind of thing bad light novels and cop dramas revolve around.

That doesn't change the fact that he wants his gun, badly, when he's talking to the human monsters. Can envision the way the stock would feel in his hands, see the surprised look on their faces, imagine rocking with the recoil as the shots found their target. Knees first, then shoulders, trying to keep them alive despite the fact that he doesn't have Ichijou's skill. Using the barrel as a blunt weapon, calmly, and relishing the crack of bone as a jaw breaks here, a skull fractures there. Making it last as long as it can, because nothing they could go through will make up for the child whose life they've ruined.

He throws up after the interview, and not because of the things they tell him.

It was so much easier, with the Grongi. They were inhuman. Monsters playing a monstrous game, and the response was so blessedly simple. Find them. Shoot them. No worrying about rules and regulations and laws and filling out every piece of paperwork perfectly, to make sure that the bastards always paid the proper price for their sins. Just Godai's symbol, Kuuga's mark, and the purifying might of fire.

"Sugita-san?"

"Ah." Raising his head from his hands, he tries to give a welcoming smile to Sasayama-san. His right hand falls back to the paperwork on his desk, rifling through it as though he had actually been working on something. "Good afternoon. Have more work for me?"

"No." The woman stares down at the floor, her own hands holding tightly to a folder. "I heard you already have one. A pretty bad one."

"Pretty bad, yeah." He shrugs, trying to keep it nonchalant. "Anytime parents fail to take care of their children it's pretty bad, isn't it?"

"It is." She nods more vigorously than is needed.

"Did you need anything from me?"

"No." Shaking her head again, she backs up a step before standing her ground. "I just… well… you looked… you looked really sad. Really, really sad. So I wanted to make sure you were all right, and tell you…" Her voice trails off, eyes still studying the floor at his feet rather than his face. Then she shrugs, shoulders squaring, head rising, and he can see the courage that got her through the Grongi Year as her hand forms a determined thumb's up. "Just tell you this."

He laughs. It's obviously not what she expected, and her eyes fall again, shoulders hunching as she prepares to bow and apologize.

"No, no, it's all right." Giving a thumbs-up of his own, he motions for her to sit in the chair in front of his desk. "Just… I needed that. I needed the absurdity of Godai right then, and I owe you a lot of thanks for seeing it."

"I don't think it's absurd." She stares at him cautiously but defiantly, ready to defend Yongo's honor.

Damn, but he needs to stop chuckling and start making sense. If there's one thing the Unidentified Task Force survivors won't tolerate, it's someone bad-mouthing Godai or Yongo.

Or Ichijou, for that matter.

Or, really, any other member of the task force.

Or humanity in general.

"He really changed us." Any urge to laugh is gone, though he's still smiling, something he wouldn't have thought he'd be able to do for at least a week ten minutes ago. "That crazy, wonderful man took us through one of the worst wars humanity's ever faced, and he brought us out of it _more_ certain of the absolute good in human nature than we went into it. How does someone _do_ that?"

"Because he believed it. Because he showed it. He and Ichijou and you and everyone else." She stares him in the eyes again. "Because it's true."

"It is." Looking down at the paperwork in front of him, he feels his smile fade. "But that's why everyone's having such a hard time coming back here. Humanity's good, but human beings… we can do some messed-up things."

"Most abusers were abused."

She can evidently read the disdain he feels for that argument in the stare he gives her, though she simply shrugs and continues on.

"We've already got one of the lowest crime rates in the world. If we recognize and start fixing the few problems we've got left—those who were abused perpetuating the cycle, the social stigmatization of some groups that leads to desperation and hence crime, hell, maybe some day start correcting the disparity between the genders…" She says the last line quietly, so only he can hear, still staring him right in the eye. "We've got a good thing started here. We can make it better. And though there'll always be human monsters… we know that the heroes are stronger, better, and more numerous than them."

"Yeah." Turning a pencil over and over in his hands, he studies her again. "Yeah. As long as we believe that, and refuse to become monsters ourselves…"

Her grin is broad, infectious. "You could never become a monster, Sugita-san. Ichijou-san's got better taste than that."

"I'd have to agree that he has pretty good taste in cops."

She's smart. He already knew that, because everyone on Ichijou's hand-picked task force was smart, driven and honorable. The man hadn't wasted any time carefully weeding out anyone from the command rank that didn't fit his stringent parameters, and he certainly wouldn't have entrusted Godai's identity to anyone he didn't respect.

"Hey, Sasayama-san… interested in going out for a drink with some of the old task force tonight?"

Her smile is radiant, a mixture of shy disbelief and crowing victory, and it cuts Sugita deeply. He should have been inviting her along from the beginning. It just hadn't occurred to him that she'd even be interested in going—and, hell, she wasn't a detective or a patrolman. She was just dispatch…

No. That's a coward's answer, a coward's reasoning, not worthy of a Taskforce survivor. She hadn't stood on the front line with most of them, but she'd done a damn good job with the tasks that they'd given her. And they all knew, from bitter experience, how horrible it was to simply listen on the radio and be able to do nothing as other officers died.

So he smiles at her through a pang of guilt. "If there's anything any of us can do for you… well, you are one of the guys, right?"

"No." A sad edge creeps into her smile. "If I was, I would have been coming with you since Sakurai-san had his… episode. But I appreciate getting to come now, and if a few of you would be willing to give me some tips on how to make it up to detective…"

He tells her everything he can think of that night, and makes sure most of the others do, too. It's really not that hard to manage. After all, she was there with them for the worst, best year of their lives. She's one of the survivors, part of Godai and Ichijou's crew.

He doesn't get drunk, which surprises him a bit. Most of the others did, after they reached their Godai-versus-world breaking point. He doesn't need it, though. Maybe because he's older. Maybe because relearning a lesson he'd already had well-ingrained in him before he met Godai isn't as hard as learning it from scratch. Or maybe just because he's seen so many others go through it before.

He gives the important toast, the one to the good in humanity, and he means every word of it. Much as the monsters outside and the monsters inside scare him, they can't hold a candle to the love and hope that's somehow come to be embodied—for them, at least—in the simple, childish symbol of a thumb's up.

He makes sure to give Sasayama one before he goes home to bid his child goodnight and hold his wife.

He can't help the grin that spreads across his face when she returns it, smiling shyly but happily from the center of the group.


	3. Ichijou

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any Kamen Rider, unfortunately.

**Author's Note:** I'm so sorry this took so long! It was the most difficult piece to write. Hopefully someone enjoys it! There probably won't be any more in this series, unless someone requests something. **There are spoilers for the end of Kuuga.** Lots of episode 48 is spoiled in here.

_Ichijou_

He shoots and kills a man four months after Godai leaves.

It's become his main form of telling time, somehow. There was the time before Godai, when Nagano was his world and he was one of the rising stars of his generation. Then there was the time with Godai and the taskforce, when the world went mad and yet somehow stayed blessedly, simply sane. And now there's the time after Godai left, running away while the rest of them try to fit the pieces of their lives back into some semblance of order.

He hates that he thinks like that, sometimes, because it's not true. Godai earned the right to run, bleeding crimson all over that mountain. It wasn't even really running, because he wasn't trying to escape from life… from people. If Ichijou learned nothing else about the man during their year-plus fighting together, he knows that no matter where Godai is or what he's doing he'll find a way to help.

Even if it tears him apart inside, kills him bit by bit.

No, Godai should have left. Needed to go, which was why he didn't complain when the man disappeared barely three days after the Grongi were gone. It might even have been safer for him, being gone. Though he doesn't think anyone would do it—doesn't think they'd be able to, not with how many task force survivors there were who worshiped Godai and Yongo—someone might easily have gotten it into their head that with the Unidentified Lifeforms gone the best thing to do with Yongo was study him. And Tsubaki had made it very clear that Godai isn't really human anymore… is becoming more inhuman with each passing day.

Not that anyone could tell from the postcards he sends. He sends notes for everyone, though Minori's the one who receives them all. Probably because Godai hadn't thought to ask for anyone else's address before running. Disappearing. Adventuring, there's a fair and neutral word for what he's doing. Climbing mountains and skyscrapers, seeing oceans and rivers, learning new languages, and the postcards never tell enough. Each contains only a few lines of writing on the back, usually a simple tale of new friends and food, locations and languages, wonders and wanderings.

He misses being in Tokyo. Though Minori still forwards him the ones Godai addresses to him, he doesn't get to see the ones the others get.

Not that it _really_ matters that much. Maybe it's even better this way. Better to stop counting on a crazy civilian to make him feel better about life in general and people in particular, especially when that crazy civilian's going to be living several hours away during those rare times he decides to actually stay in the country.

"Ichijou-san?" Kameyama's voice is timid, his stance hesitant.

"Hmmm?" Looking up at the younger officer, Ichijou carefully erases any emotion from his face.

The young man hesitates before speaking, turning the thin folder in his hands from side to side. "Did the review… not go well?"

"It went fine." Tone neutral, face neutral, don't think about it. Focus on what's going to happen now, not what happened before.

"I knew it would." Kameyama relaxes, a bright grin spreading across his face, and holds out the file for Ichijou to take. "It was obvious it would. You did what you had to do."

_He lines up the shot like he has a hundred, a thousand times before. Maybe more, now. Avoid the civilians. Drop the target. The recoil is too gentle, not what he was expecting at all, and his muscles feel too tense and stiff as he waits._

_It's not until the hostage runs away screaming that he realizes he's waiting for a human to get up again. People don't recover from wounds like that, though._

_Well… most people._

"Ichijou-san?" Kameyama looks worried again, and his hands twitch toward the folder before he puts them behind his back. "If you don't want the case, Ichijou-san, that's fine. I mean, you've just come off leave—"

"Is this everything?" Standing, he grabs his coat from the back of his chair.

"Ah… yes." The younger officer takes a step back, expression uncertain still.

"Then let's go."

The young man doesn't protest. Doesn't talk much at all, actually, and Ichijou's grateful for that. All he wants to do right now is work, drowning thoughts he shouldn't be having in the solid reality of helping people.

After all, there's little else for him to do in Nagano.

XXX

Kameyama leaves the forms on his desk. He's sure of it, though it takes him three hours to finally track the younger man down.

The officer's face pales and his eyes widen when he sees Ichijou coming, gaze darting to both sides, and Ichijou almost feels bad about it. Trapping the boy isn't what he's trying to do, but he needs to know why. Needs to know where he slipped up, and how many people have noticed, and how hard it's going to be to fix everything.

"The papers…"

The young man's foot scrapes against the ground, and he looks so horribly guilty that Ichijou has to sigh. Taking Kameyama's arm, he drags the younger man to his desk, away from anyone who might want to listen in.

"You put the transfer papers on my desk, Kameyama?"

"I'm sorry." Still studying the ground, the young man bows low. "I didn't mean anything by it. I just thought… you just seem…"

"I just seem what?"

Kameyama peers up at him through his bangs. "Miserable."

"I seem…" Well, of all the possible answers, that hadn't been one he was expecting. "What do you mean by that?"

"You're not happy. You're working even longer hours than you did before you left. You don't ever want to come out with anyone. You just…" Kameyama bows again. "I apologize for being too forward about it. But there're people here who are worried about you, and that's the only thing we could think of that might help."

"Sending me back to Tokyo?" Ichijou raises his eyebrows. "Why would you think sending me back to the place I was in a war would make me less miserable? Assuming I am miserable, which I'm not."

Shrugging, Kameyama stands at uneasy attention. "You're happier, after you get the notes. And you smile sometimes, when you talk about the people you worked with there."

"I'm not…" Pinching the bridge of his nose, he shoves the transfer papers across the desk toward the younger man. "I'm not miserable here. I like my job. I've been doing it well. Does anyone have complaints about my work?"

"Of course not." The protest is hot, vibrant, and Ichijou smiles slightly. It reminds him of the task force members, defending him and Yongo from anything they thought was a spurious claim.

"If there's nothing wrong with the work I'm doing, then—"

"You deserve better." Kameyama's eyes are glued to the floor again. "You should be happy, Ichijou-san. And if you can't find that here, if whatever you went through in Tokyo means you can't have that here, then try to find it there. Or anywhere else you can think of. Just… be happy."

He should reprimand the younger man for being way out of line. He should tell him that he needs to be careful, watch his tongue and his tone, or his chances of promotion are going to be slim. Instead he says, "It wasn't Tokyo."

Kameyama's eyes widen further, almost panicked.

"Tokyo had… bad times, certainly. The Unidentified Lifeforms were always unpleasant, to put things mildly. But it wasn't… that isn't…"

It's a mountain, cloaked in snow, and Godai bleeding in his arms. So much blood that the snow around them is melting, and a helicopter's coming but it's too slow, too slow, and he puts two dozen bullets into Daguva to make sure he doesn't get up but he doesn't know what to do to make sure Godai Yuusuke _does_.

It's a building in downtown Nagano, and he shot a man in the head, dropped him like he was an Unidentified Lifeform, and they gave him a commendation and a raise for his quick, cool assessment and containment of the situation. Even though he _told them_, risked his career and his reputation by admitting that he wasn't thinking clearly at all. He reacted as though the human were a Grongi, though all the Grongi are gone.

It's saying goodbye to them all. Watching Godai step onto a plane, looking so distant and sad, and thank the gods he started sending postcards within a week. Saying goodbye one by one to his taskforce, to his friends, and coming back here, where no one understands. Where a thumb's up is a gesture that's somewhere between curious and pathologic, and Yongo is a mysterious force instead of a beloved protector and friend.

"This is home." He says the words softly, studying his hands as he does, because he can't look at Kameyama. They shouldn't be having this conversation. He shouldn't be this weak. "I don't… this is home."

"I think… it might not be anymore." The younger officer shuffles his feet, gaze rising.

Ichijou continues to stare at his hands on his desk. He's not going to risk showing how much that simple statement hurts, especially because it's probably true.

"Nagano's not going to change, Ichijou-san." Kameyama's words are soft, gentle, but with an undercurrent of excitement and fear. At least the man knows they shouldn't be having this conversation. "What you went through… what you all must have gone through… this isn't the right place for you right now. Maybe Tokyo isn't either. But if it's not, Nagano's still going to be here, exactly the way you remember it. Because nothing ever changes in Nagano, right?"

Kameyama makes the jab with the proper amount of fondness and self-deprecation, something only a native could do. It's something he missed when he was in Tokyo, during those times when he had a chance to miss anything at all.

"Ichijou-san?" Bowing low again, Kameyama speaks with quiet deference to the floor. "I apologize. I said too much, I know, and—"

"I'll think about what you've said." Ichijou gathers the papers into a neat stack and carefully files them away in a top drawer. Grabbing a notebook and standing, he nods in acknowledgement of the other officer. "Right now, I need to get back to work. You probably should, too."

They don't mention the incident again. Work follows the same pattern it always does, with one case closing only to have another take its place. And if it's like this in Nagano, what would it be like in Tokyo? What horrors would parade through the office? What nightmare fodder would he find there, in a city with so many, with so many sub-cultures, where the people are undoubtedly scarred by the last year and the same war that apparently broke something in him?

Nagano is his home. Where his mother is, where the people he's worked with throughout most of his career are, where he always planned on settling down, and the Grongi didn't change that. Can't have changed that.

He fills out the transfer request two weeks later, because he desperately needs something that Nagano can't offer. He doubts Tokyo will be able to, either, but any hope is better than nothing at all.

XXX

Tokyo didn't change at all.

But it's still not the same.

The people are different. He knew that, when he asked for the transfer. He knew that he wouldn't be working with many of the task force members, since most of them had gone back to their own units, their own homes, their own lives. But he still hadn't been expecting it to feel so _different_. Hadn't really thought about how much the promotions and demotions given out after the Grongi were officially declared defeated would change things.

But there isn't time to dwell on it. Work's _busy_, like only a truly monstrous city can be, and he's thrown from case to case, barely a moment to breathe in between. It's what he wants, in some ways. What he was trying to accomplish in Nagano he can do with ease here, eradicating any free time that might have been in his schedule with extra work on whichever case calls to him most.

He sleeps, because he has to, but it's usually only for four or five hours at a time. Meals are an infrequent occurrence, but that means he has to spend little time cooking and even less time buying things.

It works, for the first two weeks, and he almost forgets about the sharp-edged hole inside him, where Godai and Grongi and dead civilians live.

"Yo, Ichijou-san." It's Sugita's voice that calls his attention up from the transcript he was reading, and his heart rate doubles for a few seconds.

"Ah. Hello." He gestures at the seat across the desk from him, setting the transcript aside. He'll have to start from the beginning again once Sugita leaves.

"It's good to see you." Sugita settles down with a sigh, stretching as he does. "Surprised I haven't seen more of you since you transferred back, actually. You're not trying to avoid us, are you?"

It's said with a teasing lilt, but it still brings a slight blush of shame to Ichijou's cheeks and his eyes drop to the desk for a moment before he drags them back up. He's done nothing to be ashamed of, and he's not afraid to talk with a friend. "Sorry about that. Things have just been rather busy, getting moved in, getting the feel of things here. Plus the case load here's pretty rough."

"I hear you on that one. Give it half a chance and this job will eat your life, not to mention your heart and soul." Sighing, Sugita shakes his head. "Settled in all right now, though? Need any help with moving or unpacking or anything?"

"I'm fine." He smiles as he says it, and for some reason the expression feels strange on his face. "I think I'm settling in well."

"Higher-ups seem to think so, too. They're impressed with your gusto, intelligence, devotion and determination." The quoted words are said in a deep, gravelly voice that manages to mimic all chief's everywhere while the smile says it's all in good fun. "At least if word of mouth is anything to go by. So you can stop trying to work yourself to death now, at least until something that's worth it comes along."

"I'm not…" The protest dies in his mouth as the concern and determination on Sugita's face sink in. "Am I?"

"Giving it a damned good try, I'd say." Sugita softens the words with another small smile. "Anything you need to talk about, Ichijou-san?"

A hundred things. A thousand things that clammer in his mind whenever he stops thinking hard enough about something else. Images, always with shades of red. Sounds, the soft and quiet chirp of a bird, the sharp crunch of a fist breaking a bone, the hard crack of a bullet leaving the chamber. Smells, blood and snow and gunpowder. But he doesn't have words to describe them, doesn't see any _point_ to describing them. Better to just let them fade away, drown them in the work that he loves to do. The work that _helps_ people, and helping people is all that he's ever wanted to do with his life.

"I'm fine, Sugita-san." His eyes have dropped to the top of his desk again, a sign of weakness or lying, and he doesn't want to give either impression to this man. So he forces his head up, forces a smile, and meets the other detective's gaze as he raises his right hand in a thumb's up. "Really, I am."

"All right." Sugita returns the smile, and there's a look of conspiracy, of temporary acceptance about it. "How about you join us for drinks tonight, then? Me, Sasayama, Sakurai, a bunch of the other Task Force members who are still in the area have been going out every week or so. A good way to keep in touch, blow off steam, tell each other what rumors we've heard about Yongo… sound good?"

"I don't usually like going out…" It's true. He tends to be a very private person, and he usually has little use for the forced camaraderie of work outings. He can only stand being asked about his non-existent girlfriend so many times in a night before it gets very annoying, and that's still significantly better than the times people try to get him to buy a girl a drink. Or the times they coerce him into singing. Or the times…

But this won't be a typical work outing. This will be his task force members, the people who survived the Grongi war with him. These will be the people who know better than to ask about his girlfriend—at least know better than to ask more than once. The people he spent long nights with, risked his life for, bled beside.

Besides, the glower on Sugita's face says that he might resort to more extreme options like

handcuffs and blindfolds if Ichijou decides to say no.

"All right. I'll come, at least for an hour or so."

"Good man." Sugita grins widely, reaching over the desk to clap him on the shoulder. "Everyone's going to be thrilled to see you, you know."

"I'm sure. But if we're going out tonight, I need to get back to work." He moves the transcript back in front of him, flipping to the front.

"I'll swing by once I'm off shift, tell you where we're going and pry you away from anything non-vital you're trying to do. All right?" Sugita stands as he speaks, resettling his jacket.

"I'm looking forward to it." He realizes with a bit of a start that it's actually true.

"And Ichijou-san." Sugita pauses at the door. Only when Ichijou looks over at him does he raise his right hand in a thumb's up. "It really is going to be all right."

Returning the gesture—Godai's symbol—Ichijou feels, for the first time in a long time, that maybe it will be.

XXX

Going out isn't as awful as it could be.

It's good to hear from all the others. It's fun to learn about everyone's adventures and mis-adventures since their parting over a half a year ago, and everybody seems to have at least one good tale to tell. They're all _good_ stories, too, of people being ridiculous, of misunderstandings, of tangled paths that result in humorous anecdotes rather than pain. He knows that's because those are the stories they're selecting, the ones everyone's choosing to tell him, but it still lifts his spirits.

It's actually kind of ridiculous how much better he feels, sitting in the center of these people, nursing the same beer he started at the beginning of the evening. Not healed, not fixed, but _better_, in a way he hasn't felt in over six months.

"All right, then." Sugita stands, tapping on his beer bottle with a spoon until the task force quiets down. It only takes a few seconds to get their attention. An _intense _attention, a waiting, hungry attention, and Ichijou finds himself sitting up straighter.

What is it that they're all expecting?

"I'm sure you've all noticed our fearless leader has returned." The grin on Sugita's face is wide and honest as he gestures at Ichijou. "Got bored over in Nagano, trying to run _just_ a big city by himself. Needed Tokyo's bipolar challenge."

A few people snicker, two for significantly longer than the joke actually calls for. They'll have to make sure everyone who's been seriously drinking takes a cab home or gets a ride from someone.

"It's been a trying few months for everyone." The levity drains from the group as Sugita's smile fades. "We've all had our tough times. Our painful times, trying to re-adjust to what life is. What life has always been. But I'd say we're doing pretty well."

That gets a rumbled agreement from the group.

"Still, it's good to see each other like this. Good to remember what we went through, what we saw, and what we learned. Good to drink to the things that changed us for the better, in a time that could have made us monsters." Sugita stares down at his drink, the faint ghost of a smile on his lips. "But I think I've done enough of toasting and talking over the last few months. Let's have Ichijou-san start us off."

Everyone's eyes shift to him, and Ichijou has to fight the urge to lean back or hunch down. He hadn't been expecting this. Being singled out, being made to speak on the spur of the moment…

But the eyes that watch him are all too familiar for his natural shyness to really have a chance to kick in. These are his people. He's talked to them on the spur of the moment before. And if it's a toast to something that changed them for the better, then there's really only one option for that.

"To Godai and Yongo."

There's a cheer, a quiet, happy exultation as the others mimic his words and clink glasses together.

And then they're all staring at him, expectant again, and he has to scramble for something else to say.

"To all of you. For being the best group of—" He almost says _survivors_, but that's not a phrase this group has ever burdened itself with before, and he's not about to brand them with it now. "Allies and friends anyone could ask for."

There's another cheer, another round of drinking, and then they're staring at him _again_. This isn't fair, really. There's something they're expecting, something they're looking for, but he's been away for too long to know what it is.

"To you, Ichijou-san." Sugita lifts his glass, and his smile's back in full force. "For being a good man and a damn fine leader."

The cheer the group gives isn't quite as loud as for Godai, but it's a close second. Ichijou finds his cheeks warming, his eyes dropping to the table as he grips his drink harder.

"And to _people_, Ichijou." Sugita waits—they _all_ wait, though most are kind enough not to stare at him—until Ichijou raises his eyes to meet Sugita's. "To humanity. For being capable of so much. For having amazing potential, and to the day when all of us can finally live up to that potential."

The group's quiet still, a watching, restless, tense stillness as they wait for him to respond.

Lifting his glass, he reaches forward to tap it against Sugita's gently. His voice feels too tight in his throat. "To humanity, and all that it will one day be."

The resounding cheer that follows sweeps through him, reverberates in his chest, and he closes his eyes tight. Clenches his fist around his glass, but it's not from pain. Not from fear, or loss, and he wishes he had words for the emotions that are running through him. Is this hope? Relief? Not happiness, sharp and bright, but something akin to it, surely.

Whatever it is, it feels better than the cold numbness that he's been struggling with for the last few months.

The evening was practically done, anyway, but the last hour blurs together into a sea of grinning faces and exuberant toasts. It takes only about fifteen minutes to load everyone into cars, a process that Sugita organizes with the efficiency of long experience. Before he quite realizes what's happened, it's only Ichijou and Sugita left, walking to their cars together.

"Good night?" Sugita studies the sky as he speaks, the few stars that are brilliant enough to pierce through the bright glamour of Tokyo's lights.

"Ah." There's not much more to be said than that, so they walk in silence until they come to Sugita's car. A brief exchange of nods, a subtle clap on the shoulder, and Ichijou starts to walk away as Sugita climbs into his car.

"Ichijou." Sugita's voice pulls him up short, and Ichijou turns to look, car keys in his right hand. "Talk with Enokida-san. Soon, all right? Or that doctor friend of yours. Or those archaeologists." Covering a yawn with his left hand, Sugita raises his right in Godai's symbol. "I think this was good for you. I think their little ritual will be better."

Sugita doesn't leave time for questions, sinking down into the driver's seat and pulling away before Ichijou can say anything else.

XXX

He waits four days before going to see Enokida. Not because he's deliberating ignoring Sugita's advice—the man was right about going out being good for him, helping to put a little more perspective on everything that's happened in the last year. It just takes him that long to get his work under control and find a time when she's in the lab. Getting two people who are easily buried under their work in the same room at the same time is significantly harder than he had anticipated.

"Ichijou-kun!" She grins when she sees him, the smile lighting up her face, and he can't help but smile back. "I heard you'd been lured in by the big city. I kept meaning to find time to come say hi, but you know how it is."

"I do." Hands in his pockets, he looks around the lab. Some of the equipment and data is familiar, left over from the Grongi war and all their work on Godai and the Gouram. Other bits of machinery are brand new, and the data currently scrolling across Enokida's computer screen might as well be in a foreign language.

"Are you busy next Tuesday?"

"Not yet." He ducks as Enokida reaches for something on a shelf behind him, almost hitting him in the head with a blue metallic object that could almost be a helmet. "Why?"

"Consider yourself busy on Tuesday from now until I tell you otherwise." Attaching a slew of wires to the blue bludgeon, she adjusts her glasses before grinning up at him again. "Jean, Sakurako-san, Minori-chan and I usually get together on Tuesday nights at that little restaurant Godai lived at. Tsubaki-san comes sometimes, when he's not too busy. We have dinner, talk about things, nothing too intense, but it's nice. I think you'll enjoy it."

"Jean?" A first-name basis with no honorific at all? Granted, Americans tended to like using their first names, but still…

A light blush and a teasing smile from Enokida confirm his suspicions. "We've been seeing each other for the last three months. Not too serious—not yet, since he's only got a year left in his program. But maybe. We'll see. Picked up a girlfriend yet?"

Shaking his head, he smiles at his old friend. "Congratulations. And, like every other time you've asked, no. No girlfriend."

"I know." Bending over the computer, she fiddles with the controls on whatever she's working on before turning back to him with a victorious grin. "Really, though. You should come on Tuesday. We don't meet until 7:30, so you should have plenty of time to get everything done."

"I'll be there." Bowing slightly, he backs toward the door before he can get dragged into any part of her experiment. "Good luck with whatever that is."

She's already lost in her work again, fully focused on the screen, and he gets barely a nod as he heads out the door. Coming from Enokida, though, that's enough.

XXX

They finally start dinner at eight thirty, after everyone's spent some time helping Kazari-san prepare and serve the meals. They all seem comfortable behind the counter of Pore-Pore, and Ichijou finds it hard to be act overly shy or confused when Sakurako's shoving a spoon in his hand to stir something on the stove or Tsubaki's loading everyone's arms up with plates. It's a different kind of chaos, a comfortable ritual that he slides into effortlessly.

There's not much need for him to talk during the meal. The others are more than capable of carrying the conversation, with Minori telling stories about her kids, Enokida and Jean tag-teaming tales of Sayuru, Jean and Sakurako eager to share new things they've found on their archaeology projects, and Tsubaki chiming in every now and again. They ask Ichijou a few things, the usual compulsory questions about how he's settling in, how his new apartment is, and they leave room for him to enter the conversation if he wants to, but there's no pressure.

It's almost ten when Kazari finally closes the café and sits with them, pulling up a chair and settling in with a long-suffering sigh. "That was quite the night. Thanks for the help earlier."

Everyone murmurs a dismissive comment, making it clear that this isn't unusual. But there's more of a charge in the air than there had been before, and Minori's smiling broadly as she reaches around her seat to rummage in her back-pack. She comes out with a handful of postcards, most scuffed or dirtied in some way, and Ichijou feels his pulse quicken.

Godai.

News from Godai.

He's somehow lost a few seconds of his life, because Minori's holding one out to him, smiling, but with a half-worried look in her eye that says he needs to do something now.

Taking the proffered postcard, he studies the front. A picture of a river, in the middle of a rainforest, brilliantly colored birds festooned along the banks. There's no city, no country, nothing on this side to give away where the sender might be now. Just the beauty of nature, with a few smudges of dark dirt worked into the shiny protective coating.

The other side is post-marked, though. Three weeks ago, Godai was in Honduras. Does the man intend to walk the entire length of the Americas? Has he just been walking, or is he taking buses, planes, hitching rides with strangers? Not that any random human could be a threat to Godai, not now, but—

"'Picked up a new recipe for you to try.'" Kazari holds his post-card out at arm's length, twisting it slightly and squinting. "'Spicy but good. Feel free to share with the others.' Nice, Godai. Very nice. Though I have no idea where I'm supposed to find half these ingredients, or what some of them are."

"We'll figure it out." Sakurako smiles. "It's usually worth it, isn't it? Except for that one time when you and Jean—"

Jean starts speaking before she can continue, clearly reading from his postcard after giving Sakurako a glare. "'Learned how to make el gueguense costumes from local woman, also let me see/do part of play though not right season. Took notes on dialect. Can share when see you again.' The last part's gotten wet, but I think it's just his signature. That should be interesting, don't you think?"

"Mmm. It's so well-researched I doubt he found out anything new, but it's still exciting." Sakurako pats Jean's hand enthusiastically. "Maybe we can get him to put on a performance for us when he finally comes back."

Godai, singing and dancing in some strange costume he picked up on his travels. The thought makes Ichijou smile, and he closes his eyes for a moment, just listening to the stories. Imaging Godai writing each, trying to fit as much information as he can on each card, and it's easy to see. Easy to picture the concentration, the determination, and the happy smile when it's done and sent off to its recipient.

Minori speaks next, and her joy at having word from her brother is clear in every word. "'Learned new games from local children, easy to recreate anywhere. Just need sticks and rocks. Will teach your kids when back. Also went diving, collected shells and rocks. Some for you, some for your kids. Miss you and love you, Godai.'"

There's a moment of silence, quiet and intense, and Ichijou opens his eyes to find Minori clutching her postcard in both hands.

Her eyes are bright with tears, but there's a smile on her face, and after a moment she just shakes her head. "I miss you too, big brother. Come back from your adventures soon."

Watching her face, Ichijou wonders, not for the first time, what it must be like to have Godai Yuusuke as an older brother. How lonely and frightening it must have been, when he wandered off for months at a time on strange adventures; or maybe it isn't, for her. Maybe she understands his wanderlust, feels a bit of it too.

Even if it's different this time, for all of them. Different for Godai, because he's running from a war and from all the changes in himself, trying to soothe away a year of hell with what's looking to be a year or more of wandering. Different for them because—

"'Tsubaki—Spent some time working on farms, learning how to grow coffee and sesame. Hard work but fun. Two new skills! Also found poisonous snakes that can jump nearly as high as Yongo's blue form, but thanks to great doctor being right on hand doing fine. Transported snake to uninhabited place and released.' Brilliant, Godai. Just brilliant. The last thing I need is you getting strange poisons into your veins. Who knows what a true neurotoxin would do to that belt of yours?" Tsubaki tosses his postcard down in the middle of the table. "Half the time he forgets I exist, the other half of the time he sends me things like _this_. I swear, Minori, that brother of yours—"

The peace and tranquility that sitting at the table and listening to Godai's words spoken by his closest friends had created shatters. It takes Ichijou a moment to remember how to breathe, and when he does the cool night air tastes like snow. Tastes like blood, despite the fact that there's no blood here, has _never_ been any blood shed here, though if the edge of the postcard were any sharper it would be digging into his hand.

"Hey. Ichijou. Ichijou!" Tsubaki's hand on his shoulder is fierce, demanding, and it takes all of Ichijou's self-control not to flinch away or attack.

These are his friends. This is a safe place. This is _Godai's_ place, and Godai's just fine. Making light of what happened, even, saving the creature that would have killed him if he wasn't super-human.

"I'm fine, Tsubaki." Smoothing the postcard out on the table, he diverts his eyes from his old friend. From _all_ of his friends, old and new, because he can't stand the worry in Jean's, the understanding in Minori's, the knowledge being traded between Enokida and Tsubaki. He has to blink a few times for the words to make sense, but then the carefully crafted characters spring into view. Godai's handwriting, which he'd know anywhere, which he could pick out from anyone else's for the rest of his life. "Mine doesn't say much. 'Doing well. Got stopped at border as suspicious person—possibly only second police officer ever to find me suspicious. Maybe you'd get along. Ended up being nice person in end. Will write again when I can. Godai.'"

Looking up at the others hesitantly, he finds Minori smiling at him. Her eyes are a bit like Godai's, kind and open, and he returns the smile before he has a chance to think about it.

"Well, I think he should be stopped more often as a suspicious person." Sakurako shakes her head, breaking any remaining tension in the room. "Especially with the things he likes to bring back as gifts. Very suspicious, if you ask me."

"Definitely one of the more suspicious people I've met." Tsubaki speaks evenly, with just a hint of a false note to the levity. Combined with a quick glance that they exchange, it's enough for Ichijou to know that the doctor's not going to let things drop that easily. For the moment, yes, but not forever.

But that's okay, because the moment's enough. Enokida reads her card, a short description of a local legend that she can weave into a story for her boy. Sakurako shares hers, another tale of foreign culture learned from native practitioners. They talk for a few minutes, about Godai, about what they're going to do for the week, and then Kazari's herding them from the store, Enokida's running home to catch a bit of sleep before she has to get up and see to getting her son set for school, and the group disintegrates into individual fragments. Easily, smoothly, with called promises to see each other next week, and it's obvious that they've done this many times before.

Tsubaki doesn't disappear, though, a silent shadow at his side as Ichijou makes his way to his car.

Finally the doctor sighs, leaning against the rear window on the driver's side of Ichijou's car. "You're really going to make me bring it up, aren't you? Stubborn bastard."

"I'm not making you do anything, Tsubaki." He pauses with his hand on the door, looking back at his old friend. Seeing the concern, the caring that lies beneath Tsubaki's usual good humor and nihilistic comments, and it stops him in his tracks. "I'm fine. I really am."

"I scared you, didn't I?" Tsubaki's gaze drops to the ground before climbing a lamp post to stare at the streetlight. He's uncomfortable with this conversation, uncertain what to do, but the doctor in him won't let it go. The _friend_ in him won't let it go. "Talking about Godai possibly getting himself ki—… hurt. You know how unlikely that is to happen. It just bothers me how flippant he is about any near-death experiences he's had. He knows I'm interested in what Kuuga can do. It's not fair."

The pouting quality to the last note brings the corners of Ichijou's mouth up, just a little, though his heart's still beating too fast from Tsubaki's aborted attempt to say the word _killed_. Godai could get himself killed out there, where none of them will even know where to look for him. It's extremely unlikely, especially given that he's already come back from the dead once, but it's possible.

And Godai turns the possibility into a joke, one more thing to use in the strange banter that he and Tsubaki seem to get some perverse enjoyment from.

"He's fine, Ichijou. We're all fine." Tsubaki's hand is on his shoulder, a firm anchor. "Which is what you keep telling me anyway, huh?"

"I…" He doesn't know what to say, though. He can't admit that some thing aren't fine—that he dreams most nights of Godai bleeding in the snow, of civilians being gunned down like Grongi. He can't say that he _misses_ Godai, fiercely, achingly, that he had felt more alive and _all right_ when they were reading Godai's letters than he has in… a very long time.

He can't.

And he is doing all right. He's doing his job, just as admirably as usual. He hasn't killed anyone else, despite the fact that he's been in tight situations—though how do you even _say_ that? Say that you shot one man as a Grongi, but it was _only_ one, and you won't do it again?

His head has come to rest against the driver's side door and his eyes are closed again, but he's managed to keep his breathing nice and regular.

"I'm sure you've heard of post-traumatic stress disorder. Something that happens to soldiers, mostly, but that can happen to anyone after a traumatic experience. When they feel that their life or the life of someone they love has been endangered. Especially if they felt helpless to stop it." Tsubaki's voice is calm, cool, detached, his doctor's voice that he uses for official reports. Not the voice he uses to talk to patients. Not the voice that told him, once, that Godai was gone. "The individual with PTSD experiences flashbacks or dreams about what happened. They experience a hyper-aroused state, having difficulty falling asleep, finding it easy to go for long periods of time with little sleep. Preferable, sometimes, if it keeps away the dreams. It starts to impact their social and work life, and that's when they're officially diagnosed."

Silence reigns between them, two, three, four seconds, until Tsubaki sighs again.

"You're doing fine at work. Enokida would have heard if there were problems, and she would tell me. Plus, I think _you_ would tell me. You care too much to let other people suffer for your problems. And you're self-medicating exactly like you should be. Finding a support group. Finding a place you feel safe and people you feel safe around…" Tsubaki's voice trails off again. "If you need time off, Ichijou, I can figure out a way to get it for you. It's not weak. No one would think it's weak, needing a break after what we went through. Certainly not Godai."

"I'm…" Not fine, if he's honest about it, but getting there. Getting better, being here in Tokyo with the people who understand; getting better, hearing everyone's letters from Godai; getting _better_, not worse, and Ichijou manages to lift his head and give Tsubaki a brief smile. "I'm _going_ to be fine. Getting there, day by day. If it's your _medical_ opinion that I should take a leave of absence—"

"Damn it, Ichijou, I'm not your doctor. I'm your friend, who just happens to be a long-suffering doctor. I'm not going to tell you to take a vacation, especially not when you've spoken all of a dozen words to me about whatever's going on in that thick skull of yours… but if it's what you need, I'll help you arrange to get it." Tsubaki suddenly looks tired, leaning against the car. Tired and drained, emptied of his humor and his exuberant energy, and Ichijou finds his hand reaching out.

He brushes his fingers across Tsubaki's shoulder just for a moment, a sign of silent camaraderie. "Like I said, I'm going to be all right. We all are. Guess we're all pretty good at self-medicating, huh?"

"Yeah." Tsubaki smiles at him, levering himself off the car. "We are. One of the perks of being human. But if you ever need to talk or get _actual_ medical help, do it. We need you, Ichijou. Your task force needs you. And I think Godai would be pretty damn upset if he comes home and finds out something happened to you."

"Ah. Probably." Cracking the car door open, he gives Tsubaki one last smile. "I'll take your advice."

"First time you've ever done that, then." Tsubaki returns the smile, some of his usual snarky energy bleeding back into his eyes. "I'd ask if you've gotten a girlfriend yet, but I know better. Maybe I can change your mind before your boyfriend comes back from his overseas jaunt."

"I'm not—we're not—" Ichijou's glad for the dim night lighting, because his cheeks are burning hot.

"Safe trip home, Ichijou." Tsubaki's snickering quietly to himself as he walks away, steps filled with his usual flare,

"He's not my boyfriend." He speaks the words quietly, informing his steering wheel as he slides into the driver's seat, though it doesn't seem very invested in the information. "I care about him, obviously. We're good partners. Good friends. I…"

Love him, he thinks but doesn't say, the long-engrained rules of society sticking his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Never mind that it's clear he loves Godai, as a partner, as a friend, as a brother, it isn't something that's said. Not out loud, anyway.

"I miss you, Godai Yuusuke." It's a safe statement. A true statement.

He misses Godai Yuusuke, as sharply and painfully as he's ever missed anyone before.

"I love you, Yuusuke."

The world doesn't stop turning. No one starts pounding on the door. No one notices at all, and he smiles and repeats the words again.

"I love you, Yuusuke. So come home safe and whole."

He lets his hand form a thumb's up, takes a moment to smile at the thought of Godai's return gesture and the thought of Godai's utterly certain response, and then gently puts the car in gear and heads home.

XXX

The weeks go by quietly—as quietly as any week can on the police force in Tokyo. Tuesday night is dinner with Godai's family, always with a sharing of any messages that Godai sent to any of them; Thursday night is drinks with the task force; Saturday night he calls his mother. He keeps his contacts on the Nagano police force open, as well, giving Kameyama information on how things work in Tokyo. He half expects the young man to come charging after him any day, but the fact that they're currently five months and counting since his transfer makes him worry about it a little less.

Over five months since his transfer, which makes it a little over a year since the Grongi war ended. They didn't mark the anniversary with a celebration, and he's glad that their Thursday night outing had the good grace not to coincide with it. None of them will ever forget, but none of them need a particular day to remember, either.

They remember it _every_ day, in every emergency call that causes their pulse rates to triple, their blood pressure to skyrocket.

They remember it every Tuesday, when he talks with Godai's hand-picked people and hears what the man who changed all their lives has been up to.

They remember it every Thursday, when he shares his stories with the task force and they give him theirs in return.

They remember it by living, and mourning the dead, and moving on. In nightmares that steal sleep, and dreams that reclaim their lives; in cases that hurt in ways they shouldn't, human monsters that make the Grongi seem almost sensible, and cases that make them feel _good_, solving misunderstandings and getting justice for those who need it.

They remember, and eventually it starts feeling more hopeful than painful.

It's one year, three weeks and two days after they defeated Daguva when he comes out of police headquarters to find a man sitting on a motorcycle. Obviously waiting for him, because as soon as he comes out the man takes off his helmet, puts down the kickstand, and stands up.

His hair's longer than it had been, tied back in a ponytail. His clothes are slightly different—the jeans are more worn, and the shirt's not made of store-bought fabric. But that's Kuuga's mark, carefully embroidered over his heart, and the grin on his face is something that will never change.

Something that cuts right through to Ichijou's heart, and he has to stop for a moment, force himself to breathe, though he can feel an answering grin start to form on his own face.

"You're late, Godai Yuusuke."

"Ah." Godai hesitates, smile faltering just a bit. "But I'm home now."

Ichijou walks past him, though it's one of the hardest things he's ever done in his life. Throwing his arms around Godai is something he can't do here, though; probably not something he could do _anywhere_, to be honest, no matter how much he wants to. He's too shy, and it goes against too much of their societal teachings.

Pausing just behind Godai, he raises his right hand in a thumb's up. "Welcome home, Godai Yuusuke."

Godai turns and falls into step with him, grin once again firmly in place. "Nowhere else I'd rather be."

It's true, for now. He can tell that from just a glance at Godai's face; from the way he walks, easy and sure; from the soft tones of his voice. Godai's home, and he's whole.

He won't stay forever. That's certain. Traveling is too much in Godai's blood, in his bones, in his heart. But he's home for now. He's safe for now.

Like everything else in the last two years, it's not perfect, but it's enough.


End file.
